Page 29 of For My Finale

B lossom stood at the front of the village hall, arms crossed as she watched the rehearsal unfold before her.

Gloria was, as always, being dramatic, sweeping across the makeshift stage like she was already on Broadway.

Arty, on the other hand, was shifting awkwardly on his feet like he might have to pee, as Gloria danced circles around him.

Literally. The rest of the cast was littered around the hall in various stages of boredom.

But Blossom wasn’t paying any particular attention. Her mind kept drifting. She’d been doing her best to throw herself into the play, into the cafe, into anything that wasn’t the ache of missing Lilah. But her focus just wasn’t what it should be.

She knew it too, knew she was letting Gloria get away with far too much as she crowed about the stage. But it was easier this way, easier than summoning up the energy to rein her in.

That was until Gloria turned to Arty mid-scene and snapped, “No, no, no! You’re doing it all wrong. You have to be more forceful, enunciate the words more, have grander gestures. You act like an ostrich.”

Arty sighed and looked over at Blossom and something inside her snapped. Gloria was bullying and Blossom didn’t tolerate bullying. Not from anyone .

“That’s not your job, Gloria,” she said sharply.

Gloria turned to her, arching an eyebrow. “Well, someone has to direct this mess, darling.”

“Then let me do it,” Blossom shot back. “Because I’m the director.”

A hush fell over the room. Gloria smirked and crossed her arms. “Are you, though?”

Blossom took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.” She focused, turned to face the stage. “And maybe if you’d all stop bickering for one second, maybe we could actually get something done.”

Gloria just stared at her for a long moment, then lifted her chin. “Fine, direct me, then.”

Blossom squared her shoulders. “Alright, start again. From the top.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Gloria went back to her mark. Arty glanced at Blossom, looking slightly impressed, before doing the same.

This time, Blossom really watched them. She saw the way Gloria held herself, the way she dominated the space without allowing the tiniest moment of vulnerability.

“Stop,” she demanded. “Gloria, you need to show more fragility.”

Gloria turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

“Blanche isn’t strong,” Blossom said. “Lilah told you as much. She wants to be, but she isn’t.

That’s the whole tragedy of her. She’s fragile and broken and trying to survive in a world that’s harsher than she is.

You’re playing her like she’s untouchable, but Blanche is all about illusions, about pretending to be something she’s not.

If you don’t show that, the audience won’t sympathize with her, she’ll come off as a spoiled brat. ”

For a moment there was silence, then Gloria nodded slowly. “Alright,” she said simply, turning around and hitting her mark again.

Blossom turned to Arty. “And you need to be stronger. Your character holds all the power in this scene. Right now, you’re just reacting to Gloria, but you need to take control. You’re the one who decides how this goes, you move around the stage and she follows you.”

Arty nodded. They went again.

And this time, it worked. The scene unfolded with more tension, more depth. The power struggle between the characters was more pronounced. Gloria let her voice tremble, Arty set his shoulders, grounding himself more firmly. It felt… real.

Blossom took a deep breath in. For the first time, she could really see it all coming together. This wasn’t just a village hall production anymore, it was something more than that.

She thought of Lilah, of the way she’d spoken about Blanche DuBois.

How she’d said that Blanche was doomed because she couldn’t adapt, because she couldn’t make herself fit the reality of the world she lived in.

And she thought about how maybe Lilah was a little more like Blanche than she’d like to be.

Then she was sucked back into the scene, and the rehearsal went on.

THINGS WERE FINALLY coming to an end. The last of the cast was filtering out of the village hall, their murmurs and laughter fading away into the darkness as the heavy door swung shut behind them.

Blossom let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension there.

She was exhausted. Not just from the rehearsal, but from the weight of everything.

She hadn’t thought directing would be this draining. Lilah had made it look easy. But then again, Lilah made everything look effortless.

Blossom took a seat in one of the empty chairs, staring at the scuffed wooden floorboards. The echoes of the play still hung in the air, but she barely registered them. All she could think about was how empty the hall felt without Lilah in it. Without her voice, her presence, her fire.

A soft rustling of fabric made her glance up. Ives was there, standing near the back of the hall, arms crossed, watching her.

“You’re still here?” Blossom asked, surprised .

Ives tilted her head slightly, then walked over, dragging a chair with her. She sat down opposite Blossom and studied her, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

“How are you?” Ives asked at last.

Blossom forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Ives scoffed. “Right.”

Blossom sighed, looking down at her hands. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say what you’re actually feelings,” Ives said. “Instead of pretending. Instead of telling me what you think I want to hear.”

“What does it matter?” Blossom said, irritation prickling at her skin. “She’s gone. That’s all there is to it.”

Ives leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “We knew this would happen,” she said. “I told you. I knew that the fancy actress would disappear overnight. It was only a matter of time.”

Blossom’s head snapped up. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Ives asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” said Blossom, her voice sharp and ringing through the empty hall. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Lilah didn’t disappear. She came and told me she was going. She…” She exhaled, trying to find the words. “She was trying to protect me.”

“Protect you?” Ives said skeptically.

“She thinks she can’t have a normal life. The press showed up after the party at the cafe. She doesn’t want to drag me into that mess. She left because she thought it was the right thing to do.”

“And you believe that?” Ives said, thoroughly unimpressed.

Blossom hesitated for a millisecond. “I think so.”

Ives watched her for a long moment and then sighed. “Then you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ives said. “She left, Blossom. She made that choice. Maybe she thought she was protecting you, maybe she was just running away. Either way, you let her go and she went.”

Blossom’s throat tightened. She tried to swallow down the lump that was forming there, but it was no use. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and before she could stop them, they spilled over. And then she was sobbing, the cries coming from deep inside.

“Oh, love,” Ives said. She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around Blossom, holding her. “I know, I know it hurts.”

Blossom tried to get a breath. “I just… I couldn’t ask her to stay. She’s Lilah Paxton, and who am I? I couldn’t beg her. I just… I let her go.”

Ives rubbed small circles on her back. “And yet you had the confidence to boss Gloria around on that stage like you’d been doing it all your life,” she said. She sighed. “I was no Lilah Paxton fan.”

“I know,” Blossom said. “I know but… But it seemed like you were starting to like her.”

“Maybe I was,” Ives said thoughtfully. “You really believe that she left to help you and not to hurt you?”

“I do,” said Blossom, hiccuping as she wiped her eyes.

“Christ,” said Ives, rubbing her face. “This is all a mess.”

“Yeah,” said Blossom, letting out a wet laugh.

They sat in silence for a while, the hall around them empty and quiet save for the occasional creak of the old wooden beams.

Eventually, Ives gave Blossom’s shoulders a squeeze. “Maybe the best thing for now is to focus on designing your bookshop, directing the play, other things.”

Blossom took a shaky breath and nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

But even as she said it, she knew that no amount of distractions would make her stop thinking about Lilah. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever stop thinking about Lilah. Stop wishing for her to walk back through the door.

She said goodbye to Ives and finally started to make her way home, her feet dragging with exhaustion. The night was quiet, the stars stretched out above her in an endless sky. And as she neared her cottage, her eyes drifted across to Lilah’s.

The windows were dark. The house was empty.

Blossom stopped in the middle of the path, staring at it, trying to make herself understand that she’d never see Lilah come striding out of that door again.

That she’d never hear Lilah’s voice calling her name across the garden, never hear Lilah scream as Billy nosed his way through the hedge.

Trying to make herself understand that Lilah Paxton was really, truly gone.

She turned away quickly, before the ache in her chest could consume her, eat her up until nothing was left but her sadness. She had to keep moving. It was the only thing she could do now.